


Fragile: Handle With Care

by dugindeep (hotsauce)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Nesting, POV Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6477748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotsauce/pseuds/dugindeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the following prompt at <a href="http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/7665.html">SPN Masquerade Spring 2016</a> ... No man has ever turned Sam on as much as her big brother. It’s why she dated Jess . Sam would never mistake her for Dean in the middle of the night. But now that she’s back in Dean’s orbit 24/7, old feelings flare to the surface. She doesn’t want him poking a different girl in every town, and she really wants a baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragile: Handle With Care

They always called her sensitive. Dad and Dean, that it is. And Sam took it to heart, thinking it made her soft in all the wrong ways and susceptible to pain. 

She was anything but, as she tried to prove to Dean their entire lives. He never seemed to believe it much. All too often he’d poke fun at her puppy-dog eyes and soft smiles when they needed to handle folks with precaution, and she had to believe he found it useful. 

Ironic that Dean thought she was too smart for her own good, too cautious when handling people and monsters alike. Because that’s exactly how she approached Dean, even when he filled her body with wild and reckless want.

It worked every time, her patient advance in motel rooms late at night. With the lights down and the curtains drawn, she could hide her true needs from Dean. From herself, too. So she had first crept along that dingy carpet, slowly dragged the blankets back, and slipped right onto the mattress beside her big brother. 

“What’re you…” Dean had grumbled while moving at half the pace of someone who should always be on alert, be alarmed at a new intrusion.

Sam shushed him soft, like she’d imagined Mom doing dozens of times for him, and tucked herself into his side. “Couldn’t sleep,” Sam murmured then hid her face in his neck like a wounded animal, pulling in long breaths and breathing him down deep.

“God, such a baby,” he complained, yet pulled her in even closer and held her long through the night.

Her smile remained firm as she fell asleep. 

 

*

 

“You good?” Dean asked as she washed up in the bathroom. 

He was outside the door, and she watched him in the mirror as he hovered just out of reach and barely out of sight. The water in the sink was fading from dark red to a soft pink, and the scratches up and down her arms were cleaning up well enough for now. She shut off the water and blinked at herself in the mirror then watched him try not to watch her. 

“Sammy?” he offered with caution, followed by a softer, “Sam?”

It’d been a rough night, surely, having stumbled onto a pack of werewolves deep in the forest. They’d thought they were facing a wendigo or some solitary thing, but they were proven wrong when four wild-eyed beasts came at them. Sam had been particularly unlucky when two took her down immediately, followed by the other two going after Dean before he could get a hit on either of them. Half the scratches in her skin were from the rough forest ground and falling tree limbs; the other half from fighting off those bastards.

Sam battled hard and dirty, pulling hair, scratching their eyes out, even knocking one in the nuts with a harsh knee before she could pull out her gun and load the two with silver bullets. Without pause, she’d jumped to her feet and took the other two out, near execution style when they weren’t even touching Dean, too shocked by what Sam had done to their packmates. 

Just after, Dean had checked her over, calloused fingers dragging over raw skin to ensure no major bodily harm, then rushed them back to the Impala to leave before more danger found them. He’d rattled on and on during their drive back to the motel and Sam stayed mostly silent, aside from random noises of agreement and forced chuckles to Dean’s lame jokes, like _silver, it’s what for dinner._

She hadn’t said much, no, but she was surely thinking enough for the both of them. The anguish over nearly dying at the hands of those animals who’d torn apart a family of six, the fear of watching Dean die first if she hadn’t moved fast enough and fought like a girl …

“Sam? You okay?” Dean mumbled. 

She wasn’t sure herself. Maybe she didn’t have to prove herself out there, but in here. _Sensitive_ , they’d always said. Yeah, she was sensitive of all that existed around her, including how Dean looked at her sometimes. Like he couldn’t stop staring, glancing away then right back. Or how he couldn’t let her answer a question without checking it himself, just like right now with him walking closer and inspecting her arms with gentle hands. 

“We should get this bandaged up, before you bleed much more. Don’t need to be carrying your dumb ass all around the country.”

Long before she could read her brother, Sam would roll her eyes, huff, and push him away as she went about her night without any real answer to the thought. Now, she was ready to push him out of his boundaries, the both of them really, so she set herself in his space. Chest to chest, cheek to cheek, she rung her arms around his back and squeezed tight. It only took Dean another second to hug her back, sliding his hand up to the back of her head with fingers slinking between her long hair. 

“You’re okay now,” he said, switching tactics immediately. “I got you. I’ve always got you.”

She knew it was true, felt it warm her heart deep inside. She clenched her eyes shut when a few tears rose to the surface. “I know you do.” She pressed her face into the curve of his shoulder and kissed through his thin sweaty t-shirt. She could smell him, taste him, feel him, and her whole body vibrated with the need for him to complete her, like no one had ever before.

When she kissed his shoulder once more, his hands flinched then held her tighter so she was crushed against his ribs. So tightly, she was sure there’d be marks through to the morning. Like Adam and Eve, sharing the same cage, and she prayed to God it would come true. 

Following Dean to bed and staying at his side surely helped her cause.

 

*

 

Dean would probably call it habit, while she called it strategy. Every evening, they had their normal wind down of case talk – current, future, long ago past, whatever – and Dean got into bed while Sam dawdled around until lights out. Then she’d slip in beside him, leaving just enough space to breathe.

He was sluggish to react, leaning just slightly into her side, and she was patient as ever until their bodies would sneak ever so closer. At first, she dropped a chaste kiss at his cheek and he flinched away then back as he stared at her. Even as she closed her eyes for sleep, she knew he was still watching her before pulling her in against the length of his body. They both slept straight through the night.

As Dean became more comfortable with that ritual, Sam extended her invitation with her knee nudged over the top of his, or her palm resting warmly against his heart, or her chest against his so that with every move, her breasts jostled along his side. 

Sam really was patient, packed with peace and composure. She could wait this out. 

Luckily, it only took a month until Dean was returning each of her moves. First, it was his arm around her back with his hand cupping her shoulder and thumb rubbing over the warmth of her skin. Soon later, he was turning over to flip positions, bumping his knee against hers or setting his cheek at her chest as he made her his mattress. 

She counted seconds and inhales and exhales as he fell asleep. Every night she logged the numbers in her head until she knew the moment between rest and slumber. She then counted down to the suspended moment when she could drop her hand lower on his back, shift into him, and set her mouth against his. At first, she simply pulled on his breath, shared the same air, until he slipped back into a light haze and opened his mouth to her. 

She snuck her tongue between his lips and felt him stop breathing for monumental seconds, and she held them in place. Sam didn’t push it any further, just waited for his easy step back, which she expected and would accept. She could try this again another night.

Only, he didn’t step back. He exhaled loudly through his nose as he widened his mouth and pulled her even deeper inside. Her long arms wrapped around to tug him against her body, so he could feel every subtle curve of her bones, and Dean tried to do the same. His hands finally wound around her, one at her hip, another in her hair, clutching and biting at her skin. He pulled at her, her clothes, her face, much messier than she’d ever seen him with one night stands, but she relished the fever growing between them. 

Patience may have been her strong suit, but it wasn’t her favorite. She preferred meticulous, precision, preparedness … all the things she was for Dean that got them here, where he was rolling to his back with her following and settling snug against his hips. She could feel him against her, the hard press of his cock, tucked safely behind cotton, yet nudging between her legs and teasing her of all she’d ever wanted from him. 

Still, she could be slow and methodical. Not just in mind, but in the slow twist of her hips as they grinded against each other, or the easy touch over his shoulders before she held on for leverage and rubbed off on him. His breathing became tight as he pulled at her shirt, found a grip at her hips to tug her this way and that, closed his eyes against the impending disaster they were about to stumble onto. Until then, she would relish the pleasure of her brother’s cock tucked up against her pussy, teasing her clit, and dragging her under the fog of orgasm before she could think about how to pay him back.

 

*

 

It was night and day for them. Quite literally, really, because in the daylight, nothing changed for them, and they went out of their way to not touch one another or reference much outside of the family business. Once the lights were out and blankets were pulled back, all pretense was off the table, and Sam found herself delighted in finding all the ways in which she could tear her brother apart. 

She’d found great pleasure in sucking him off fast and dirty, with his hands fisted in her hair as he struggled to maintain some sense of composure and sanity in musty motel sheets. That’s when she went bold and curved her belly down to the mattress with her ass high in the air, face buried in his groin, hands making quick work of his balls and even further below when she was feeling especially crafty.

He didn’t talk much, at least not with any substance, when she took him to town. Or even when he did his magic on her and needled at her insides until she was a writhing mess on his mouth and fingers, or opening her wide on his dick and holding her hostage against peeling wallpaper. It was all grunts and expletives and cries of shock and pleasure, depending on her particular grace.

Sam could wait for speech, too, just as she’d waited for him finally push inside her with his eyes on hers. No longer hiding from the shame or pretending she was just another Trisha or Kristi or Debra he knew for all of a few beers. 

In reward, Sam canted her hips up, heaved him closer with long legs wrapped around his middle, and met him stroke for stroke. 

No longer a quiet dance, now she was now ready to pounce, egging him on with her tongue reaching far within or her pussy sucking at him, pulsing around him as she felt her orgasm teasing around the corner. 

“C’mon Dean,” she panted between his thrusts, “fuck me, harder, c’mon, please, please, please. _Dean_.”

His eyes opened again, and he seemed to fight against all previous contention to not really look at her, to not ever acknowledge what this was. That this was his little sister, the young girl who sucked her thumb and hid under blankets long before she knew how to salt and burn ghosts. That this was far more fucked up than any other beast they’ve encountered, and yet he couldn’t stop, because he kissed her hard at first, then eased up with wet lips and long drags of his tongue along hers. 

Sam held his face with soft hands, fingers dancing into his hair, skin sliding along sweat, and she nipped at his lips while whispering his name over and over and over again. Only stopping once he released her name with want and need, more feverish than she’s ever heard it before. 

“I won’t break,” she insists. “I promise you I won’t. I want you, want it all, harder, _please_.”

He wouldn’t, couldn’t maybe, and it didn’t have to be said. She could feel it in the crumbling of his muscles as he lowered himself to her body and sluggishly fucked her, drawing it out at a steady pace. He didn’t look at her again that night, but he did clutch at her, all over, as he took his time and picked at every piece of her until she was a fumbling, stammering mess. 

 

*

 

He no longer looked at other women. Not a second look or sly glance when he thought Sam wasn’t looking – and she is. The pinnacle hit the six week mark and she found herself smirking at him when they left a bar owned by and employed with all model-tall and dancer-sculpted women. A few of the employees attempted the lady in distress act when explaining how scary the haunting was when bar stools tipped over and bottles spilled. 

Dean had held steady the whole time and only wasted time watching Sam as she ran down her list of questions. 

“What?” he asked when they were back in the car and she was still grinning. Her cheeks were starting to pinch, probably flushing as pink as her underwear. “What’s up with you?”

Power felt surprisingly bold like a cold wind whipping through her, and it made her sit up a bit straighter on the bench seat. Nearly a year and she’d finally cracked through Dean’s boyish façade. Patience and care went right out the window as she slung her arm over the top of the seat and let her fingers play along the tightly shorn sides of his head. Stubbled hair pricked at her fingertips and she delighted in him letting her tease in the noon sun.

His confusion from just seconds ago dissipated as he focused on starting the car and pulling out of the gravel lot. “You hungry?”

“ _Yessss_ ,” she playfully hissed while rubbing the flat of her thumb along his ear lobe. 

Dean didn’t balk at her word, her tone, or even her touch that wandered down his neck. “Wanna stop to eat, or—”

“Or back to the room?”

It wasn’t hard to miss the quiet that suddenly filled the car. Dean was overly focused on the road and Sam was backpedaling into approaching her brother like a newborn foal.

He never answered, but her stomach bubbled with delight when he pulled up to the red rust of their motel door. Once on the other side of it, Dean grabbed her hips and kept her brushing up against his chest as she nipped and prodded at his lips to bruise them purple. He backed up to the bed and sat with her between his legs, reaching beneath her shirt to cup her breasts. Sam leaned into it as she yanked her shirts off along with her bra so he could have an all-access pass to her tits, licking and sucking and squeezing like a calf dying for milk. Her knees wobbled and her pussy trembled warmth and wetness as he fed on her. She pulled him off only when one nipple was far too raw then directed him to the other, and she silently applauded him for being so bold as to take every step the rest of the afternoon. 

It was his hands that yanked at her jeans, and his fingers that tripped down her abdomen to her hole, his tongue that laved all over her while nuzzling her thighs and clit to drive her to the edge then wheel her back in. She clenched around his fingers and held his head to her pussy, leaning against him as she lost any strength in her legs. Her whole body quivered under his power, and her brain and mouth ran on nothing but “ _Dean, Dean, Dean._ ”

When his jaw tired, he sat back and finger fucked her with long, thorough strokes. His eyes were wide and wet as he stared up at her and she tried to smile as she fell apart. 

“Come on, Sammy,” he said quietly, “come for me. Wanna make you come just like this. Need to see you like this.”

“Fuck,” she shouted, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” as she grinded down onto his palm with his thick fingers pressing against her inner walls. “Want you, need you,” Sam mumbled. She combed through his hair just seconds before her orgasm smacked into her, just before she begged him, “Love me.”

He drove his fingers in harder and deeper for the last few moments of her sanity then took the brunt of her dead weight when she fell onto the bed. 

“I got you, Sammy,” Dean promised against her temple. “Always got you.”

 

*

 

“I heard you,” Dean started slowly, “with Kate.”

Sam blinked out of a slight doze to Dean clearing his throat and the heavy beating of his heart against her ear. She took in a breath and squeezed around his middle, staring at the ugly yellow and olive green pattern on the wall. At least she didn’t have to look at him as she remembered just what he was going on about. 

Approaching a young mom who they’d hoped had answers to a missing neighbor, Sam had admired the woman’s tenacity in chasing down her four kids at the subdivision’s playground.

 _Don’t know how you do it_ , Sam had laughed.

 _You learn on the job_ , the woman had answered. 

Sam thought it might just be a lot like hunting. After all, the Winchesters had felt their way through the dark before becoming renowned by both hunters and monsters. Maybe Sam could put all that subtly and patience to the test in a whole new career.

“At the park,” Dean prompted when she remained quiet. 

_I’m sure you have a lot of help, though_ , Sam had disputed.

 _Just family. Don’t need much else, you know?_ After a pause, the mother looked Sam deep in the eyes with a fond smile. _You have any?_

 _Just my brother._ Then Sam realized that wasn’t the real topic. _But no kids. Not now. Busy life and all that._

_Maybe someday._

Sam had laughed and turned to the children taking turns on the twisty slide. 

_You’ll be good at it_

She spun back to the mom with liquid warmth filling her veins despite the oddness of a perfect stranger brandishing her with such good news. 

_You have caring eyes. And there’s this warm kindness to you. I can see it._

Sam had made a thoughtful face and imagined one of those four tiny toddlers with sun-golden hair and little bowed legs and freckled fingers. When she glanced over her shoulder, Dean was looking right at her, and she wondered what that young child would really be like.

“You said someday,” Dean reminded her.

“Yeah,” she agreed as she sat up and slung her leg over his hip. Still bare naked from their last round, the AC in the room chilled her arms and chest as everything below the waist heated up with the press of Dean’s lazy dick against her. She rocked back and forth a few times, watched it for any movement, and then glanced at him. She held his eye contact as she reached up and back to twist her hair at the top of her skull. “You ever think about it?”

His eyelashes fluttered as she continued to rub against him, rocking slow figure eights and waking his tired limbs. “Not much. Not anymore.”

Sam kept her hands up in her hair to amplify the smooth curves of her body, tempting Dean into hardness. “Why not anymore?”

Impatience brought his hands to life and he dragged his fingers over her legs and up to her waist. “Not like this. Not like us.”

“ _Like us?_ ” 

She ran her hips further up so his dick was caught on her folds when she tipped back down. He hissed through clenched teeth, pulled on her hips, and made her do it again even when his face twisted with distress. It felt so very good with the head of his cock prodding at her, but Sam felt s a deep ache with him going quiet and the topic hovering above them.

“What do you mean? Like us?” she asked plainly. There was hope in treating the topic – and him – like any other conversation they had before, so she kept her voice level. 

“We’re not meant for that.”

“What are we meant for?”

His eyes slipped closed as Sam swung her hips left and right to change the angle of her wet pussy on him. She smiled when he blew out a calming breath and licked his lips while trying to talk. “Meant for trouble. Nothing more.”

“Nothing less,” Sam added. “But we deserve more. I want more.”

Dean froze. He was so still that she could manipulate him any way in the book, but she went with exactly what she wanted: she tilted her hips up, reached for his dick, and pressed it into her cunt. Sans condom. 

Slowly, with the patience of a saint, she dropped her hips so he could fill her entirely. Still unhurried, she swayed back and forth, side to side, and rested her hands on his chest. Her palms rose and fell with every one of his labored huffs, and she could see the intensity in his gaze as he read her mind. 

Dean wasn’t stupid, and neither was Sam, but she still wanted to say the words, to know that Dean heard them. 

“I want more with you. Want to have everything with you. It’s always been you, Dean. No one else could fit like this. And I wouldn’t want them to anyway.”

“Sam,” he whispered, half like an argument and half in agreement.

With the same steady rhythm, she slid over his dick, let it nearly slip free before pushing back down on it. Taking her time, she made her case with her words and her body, clenching around him to punctuate every sentence. “We could do it. I know you don’t think you can, but you could. We could.”

“I don’t want to be Dad.”

“You won’t. You’re better than him.” Sam leaned over Dean and kissed his jaw with tender lips. “You’re smarter than him.” Then kissed his cheek. “And stronger than him.” And then the corner of his mouth. “And kinder than him.” Sam took Dean’s mouth in a languid kiss, still grinding down in his lap so he knew she was open and honest about this, down to every square inch inside. “More loving. More loveable.”

Dean groaned against her lips and finally touched her with his hands running up and down her back. He tugged her to his chest and quickly fucked up to her, pounding twice as fast as her to finish. Just before he did, though, he pushed her off and fisted himself with come shooting up his chest instead of inside her. 

Despite the euphoria blowing his eyes wide, he appeared halfway to terrified as he fought to catch his breath or focus on just one spot on the ceiling. 

Sam was long past fired up and needed to come, needed to fill the emptiness Dean he left inside when he pitched her to the other side of the bed. And when he denied her an answer. So she began to stroke herself with nimble fingers plucking at her clit. Dean chanced a look and Sam met his eyes as she dug teeth into her bottom lip with.

She murmured his name, which brought him back to action and he kissed her while playing with her nipples for extra stimulation. 

His tongue reached far inside her mouth and his touch was less hurried than normal, more firm and thoughtful. It was exactly what she needed after laying herself bare to him about her wants. 

After, he admitted quietly, while she was tucked into his side, “I’d give you anything.”

She kissed the skin over his heart and laid her ear over it so his steady heartbeat could lull her to sleep.

 

*

 

In the morning, he slipped into the shower, lingered behind her as she rinsed suds off her face. She was practically done, but he kept her under the water. Ran his hands down her slicked sides, her hips, and her thighs. When he pressed against her back to reach for her breasts, she felt the heat of his dick riding the curve of her ass. 

Sam stretched back to touch him, but he caught her hands and set them against the mustard yellow tiles. He nudged his feet along hers to widen her legs, then he slipped his hand between them to rub at her warmth. Moans flew out of her mouth as his fingers dipped inside in a few experimental strokes, then pulled up against her crack and back down again.

She canted her ass back for him and he took advantage of it, sliding his cock under it and teasing at her pussy. He glided in on a quick stroke then pulled completely out before doing it again. A handful of times got her excited, and another dozen made her whine with his taunting. He finally pushed all the way in and stayed tucked up against her back. His hands settled over hers, fingers lacing together, and he pitched forward in a slow slide within her. 

His name slipped through her lips like it had for so many nights, even before they became all tangled up in this mess. Long before she thought about a future and family and home. She’d always known it wasn’t meant for her, but now it was different. She was different. Dean, too. And together, now, they were a sharp knot that couldn’t be undone. 

Holding her breath, Sam reveled in Dean’s hands over her belly. His fingers danced over the arch of her ribs down over her belly as she leaned back into him, and she imagined her body full with _them_. Her abdomen shudders under his warm, caring touches, like he was mapping out the bow of her stomach for that _someday_ in the future. 

She pitched back on him, met his every stride as the shower fogged up with the shower running too long. It stung her skin along with the fire burning low in her cunt as Dean quickened his pace and pounded into her. His pressure alternated with the easy touches of his fingers over her hips or his voice low in her ear about how her body would bend, how her muscles would stretch long and lean to make room for growing life.

“Careful there, Dean,” she teased. “You may just get what you ask for.”

“May get what you want,” he corrected. 

She let out a cry when he gripped tight at her hips, digging nails in while he fucked her more thoroughly, with more effort and harsher breaths.

“Just for you,” he promises.

Sam closed her eyes and tipped her face up to the searing water for relief from the way her insides twisted with need for it to be possible. For him to fulfill his word. “And for you.”

“You’d be better at it. Trust me.” He chuckled lightly then cursed when he lost the tempo. Before she could respond, he pulled out and came across her ass. 

“God, Dean,” she complained, because she could count this as the twelfth time since she first mentioned _someday_ that he didn’t finish inside her. They’d ditched condoms around that time, which seemed quite telling of his decision, and yet …

“Easy there, Sammy.” He had practically cooed at her while catching his come on the tips of his fingers. He rubbed it over her folds, inciting sparks across her skin, and then pressed it up inside her. 

She squeezed at his fingers as he brought his other hand up to play with her clit, and within a minute, she was a desperate mess in his arms. 

 

*

It came up plenty of times after, Sam’s desire to share more with Dean. And every time he shot her down, even if he couldn’t resist her body sliding over him or her mouth prompting him to attention first thing in the morning. Maybe it was the temptation or the danger in going bare when they were together, like they were tempting fate to teach them a damn lesson.

Still, he often fell silent under her questions with worry filling his eyes. She took her time here, too, and reshaped her vision of Dean as someone who had to be handled with care.

 _Too fragile_ and apprehensive, that wasn’t really Sam. Maybe it was Dean all along. He tried so long to be like Dad, but could never come close. For which she was all too grateful. 

He’d be a much better father than they ever had, more attentive and thoughtful, _careful_ and _gentle_ in all the right ways. Even when Dean denied the possibility, contested that he knew nothing of parenthood or how to care for another in their kind of life, Sam knew he’d done just that for her.

He’d already brought up one child in this fucked up world, and he could do it again. She’d prove it to him one of these days.


End file.
